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Patients trying Harrows Patience
Harrow's Office Harrow's office is bit cluttered, but by no means messy. There's a simple recharge slab in the far corner, beside a desk littered with cogs, washers, and gears, along with blueprints to some undefined gadget. The computer screen is mounted to the wall nearby, sporting a rather cute screensaver involving turborabbits when not in use. All sorts of hand puzzles are scattered about the room, and what looks to be the Transformer-version of Sudoku sits on a stand near the recharge slab. A Monacus pit fighting poster is pinned up near the desk, signed by the boisterous mech who's standing proud in the photograph. An entire wall is left exclusively for mounted blades. Cybertronian swords from every age are set proudly in neat rows, along with newer, more decorative blades. Contents: F-16 Falcon As promised, the big orderlies have escorted Blast Off here. They're both wearing gray melding on their helms from Blitzwing's head-crushing debacle, and don't look terribly pleased to be here. Harrow is at her desk, feet kicked up. "Lets pick up where we left off, shall we?" She gestures to the chaise lounge again, tapping her lips with her finger. "I'll let you start. What is something you want to talk about?" Blast Off brushes himself off after being "escorted" here again, looking for all the world like a bird trying to unruffle its feathers. "Goose" indeed, Blitzwing. He gives the orderlies an annoyed glance, then turns his attention to Harrow. The Combaticon walks up to the chaise lounge but again does not sit down. However, this time he stands behind it, hands on the back and leaning towards where Harrow sits. "YES. Why I am here? I thought we had already talked... I'm feeling fine, everything is ship-shape, no further mental picking required." He suddenly scratches at a rust spot staining his arm. In fact, the shuttleformer looks -and smells- like slag, thanks to Galvatron's punishment. His formerly polished and neat appearance is a thing of the past, and he looks as scruffy and tired as Harrow has probably ever seen him. As anyone (not a Combaticon) may have ever seen him. "Thank you," Harrow tells the orderlies, who grunt and lock the door as they leave. She eyes Blast Off. "You look worse for wear. I suppose it's a pretty severe punishment... Er, haven't you any time to clean yourself?" She draws her datapad into her lap and vents a slow exhale. "Come now Blast Off, we can go back and forth with this little game or you could actually use your time wisely and keep from going insane just a /little/ while longer, like the rest of these psychos. <'Decepticon'> Counterpunch says, "Harrow." <'Decepticon'> Harrow says, "What." <'Decepticon'> Counterpunch says, "Prep the medbay for my arrival." <'Decepticon'> Harrow says, "Ugh!" <'Decepticon'> Harrow says, "I'm busy, what happened?" <'Decepticon'> Scorn says, "I'll have a few drones drop you off." <'Decepticon'> Counterpunch says, "I'll tell you when I get there." Blast Off glances over at the sound of the locking door, then gives Harrow a long-suffering look. "Part of the.... punishment is I am not *allowed* to clean myself. Unless absolutely required to "keep me functional." Whatever THAT means." He listens to the rest, tenses his shoulders in quick, practiced indignation and holds them there for a moment as he glares at the femme... then slowly slumps them in defeat. He waves a hand in "surrender" and circles the chair to sit on it with a sigh. The Combaticon manages to keep some semblance of dignity, but he keeps scratching at that itch on his arm. "Fine. If I must talk, then let me ask you if you know how long this little cleaning duty "punishment" is going to last and where the SLAG I am supposed to recharge. Onslaught's banished me from the Combaticon base due to this... this..." He hesitates, then slumps just a little more... "smell. Not that I can blame him.... Well, no. Actually, I can." F-16 Falcon smirks, "Yeesh, you really got it bad didn't you. You're asking /me/ about the specifics?" The medic looks over the rust and taptaptaps her stylus on her desk. "Well... The least I can do is override the ruling for the sake of your health. Rust is no laughing matter! You can clean yourself after this. And preen like the peacock you are. As for recharge, there are barracks here in Trypticon you know. Or are the barracks beneath you as well?" The dark blue F-16 Falcon Harrow transforms into her robot mode with a swift shift of components. Counterpunch has arrived. Combat: Harrow prepares Scorn for surgery, her COMBAT flag has been waived. Blast Off blinks, looking painfully hopeful as he leans sharply towards Harrow. " I CAN TAKE A SHOWER?!?" There's a soft, quick, almost desperate laugh for a moment, quite unlike his usually stuffy demeanor. He looks doubtful as Harrow continues, however, and there is a definitely snobby tone as he asks, "The COMMON Barracks? With the REGULAR troops? You expect me to....?" Then he pauses and thinks better of finishing that sentence, instead nodding and stating quietly, "...No, that... will be acceptable." There's a commotion outside the medbay, two Insecticons stomping around and talking loudly to eachother. "Oh, gross! He's bleeding on me!" one can be heard saying. "Ugh yeah, me too," the other says, dropping what sounds like a body on the floor. "Normally I would say screw it and just finish him off but I don't want Scorn's sloppy seconds." An awkward laugh. "...Also she said not to and I'm kind of afraid of her." They depart and it's quiet for a moment before there's a loud banging on the door. "Harrow? HARROW? WHY IS THIS DOOR LOCKED? WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE? I TOLD YOU I WAS COMI-" Counterpunch can be heard barfing. Harrow looks rather pleased when Blast Off swallows his metaphorical pill. "The common barracks aren't that bad, we keep things quite clean around here!" The loud banging makes her jerk and nearly drop her notes. "UGH! Stay right there Blast Off, I'll not let the hooligans disrupt PROGRESS!" She points her stylus threateningly in his direction and moves to open the door. Then immediately jumps back when energon spatters her feet. "YOU SORRY LITTLE-" She pauses, recalling rank. "Get on a berth, the other medics will see to you!" Blast Off gives Harrow a slightly dubious look, but knows better than to say anything, when they are interrupted by sounds of retching and yelling outside. ...Lovely. But... par the course given all the unpleasant things he's had to deal with lately. He rolls his optics and awaits fate. He continues to raise an optic as Harrow points her stylus at him and heads to the door. Oh well- no matter how bad this may be, it still won't be as bad as having to clean up after Apeface and Snapdragon. Counterpunch looks bad. Like, really bad. Most of his face has been reduced to a creepy robot skeleton looking deal, his head has bitemarks everywhere you could put bitemarks, and oh yeah, he's bleeding like all of his energon from a massive stab wound in his gut. "Blaaaaarrghhh.." Counterpunch falls face first into a puddle of his own blood. "Hhhhnnnggggggggg! Bwaaagh! Uuuuuughhhh.." He makes all sorts of pained, gross noises in his struggle to get up but he ultimately falls back down with a soft splash. "Harrow.. carry me there." Harrow's optics widen. "Did Scorn do this to you?" She groans and glares down at the Counterpunch puddle. "Blast Off!" she snaps her fingers and beckons, "Assist me with this. The sooner you do, the sooner this can end and you can have your silly shower." She grabs Counterpunch's arm and struggles to hoist him against her shoulder. "Stupid, messy mantis..." Combat: Harrow runs a diagnostic check on Counterpunch Blast Off sits on his chair, wincing at the unpleasantry before him and secretly QUITE happy to be over here and NOT over there... when Harrow drags him over there anyway. "What? You MUST be joking... I'm not... " Again, the complaint fades away as he takes in what she says- and slag it all, she's right. With a sigh, he gets up and walks up to grab Counterpunch's other arm. Trying to keep as much distance as he can... which isn't a lot, obviously. "Oh.. oh thank you, Blast Off. I appre-" Counterpunch coughs up mouthful of energon all over the Combaticon's chest. "...ciate it." He'd grin but, you know, no face. He looks over at Harrow and gives her a weak shrug. "Scorn? Noo.. it was some other Insecticon with literal swords for hands. Of course it was Scorn! What kind of doctor are you if you can't even piece together something that obvious?" Harrow scowls and dumps Counterpunch on the nearest slab. "She'll be hearing from me! Now kindly remain /silent/ as I try to piece you back together." First order of business is the nasty gash in his middle, which she sets to work sealing. "Okay Blast Off, I guess we're taking this session into the ward." She glances over briefly to see that he's been barfed on. "...Er, remember, calm!" Combat: Harrow expertly repairs Counterpunch's injuries. Combat: Harrow is able to repair some of Counterpunch's internal systems damage. Blast Off jerks back as Counterpunch coughs gunk all over his chest. "UUUUGH!" The revulsion is obvious. He steps back, now just barely propping the slightly larger mech up with two outstretched arms- basically as far as he can get without actually letting go. Harrow's going to let him take a shower, O Glorious Day... so he can't just outright disobey her orders. "Uh..understood." Counterpunch yelps in pain as he unceremoniously dumped onto the slab. "Hnng! Ah.. no, it's fine, Harrow. I told her to fight me. You know, a test of her skills or whatever." He completely disobeys Harrow and continues talking throughout his surgery. "So we agreed to a hand-to-hand fight which, in retrospect, was really stupid for me to even suggest." "You see Blast Off, even Counterpunch admits his faults." Harrow is elbows deep in wires and gushing energon lines, it's probably a pretty gruesome sight, but Blast Off is pretty gruesome himself. "Nrgh, okay... You're free to go FOR NOW, Blast Off. At least take care of that stench." Blast Off scoffs, muttering, "Well, it looks like HE has faults to admit to...." He backs away, almost tingling with excitement about getting to take a shower and wash the Horrorcon (and now Counterpunch) gunk off. At least temporarily. Then he stops for a second. "For now? How long is NOW? Surely we can call this even and done?" "Aaarrrghhhhh my guttsssss!" Counterpunch heaves but there is nothing left for him to throw up so he just kind of spasms on the berth while Harrow it elbow deep in his innards. "Nice try but no. I think we've got at least one more session, little shuttle," Harrow insists with narrowed optics and wags an energon-stained finger at him before returning to her spasming patient. "Oh come on, Blitzwing doesn't squeal like this! BE A MECH!" She takes a buzzsaw to something and showers sparks everywhere. Blast Off starts to protest again, "But..." and then Harrow grabs that buzzsaw. Something about a femme using a buzzsaw with (what looks like to Blast Off, at least) a mad gleam in her optics just demands some respect... and maybe fear. Yes, definitely fear. He throws his hands up again, gives a short nod, and continues backing off. To Counterpunch he adds, "Yes, you were, what, stung by an Insecticon? Surely that shouldn't be sooo bad?" Counterpunch tries to be a man but it's hard when there's a crazy lady cutting into you with power tools. He straight up faints. Or maybe passes out from blood loss. Or maybe he's dead. Harrow has left. Blast Off takes the opportunity to beat a hasty retreat before Harrow finds something else for him to do. SHOWER HERE I COME.